


after hours

by SerpentineJ



Category: Life (TV)
Genre: M/M, PWP, please dont fucking read this im not kidding, things this includes: gunplay sex toys and really really bad 2 year old writing, this probably reads like a bad fucking porno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-27
Updated: 2017-05-27
Packaged: 2018-11-05 09:27:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11010624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SerpentineJ/pseuds/SerpentineJ
Summary: "You can have anything you are wanting, Detective." Nevikov murmurs, lips slow, cocky bastard. He's standing so close, now, less than a foot away, dark eyes looking directly at Charlie. "If you only have the balls to take it."Crews growls and pushes him against the wall.





	after hours

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE: FUCK

The club is dark when Charlie pulls up.

That's not unexpected- Roman's club closes early on Sunday nights, reportedly because they're not as profitable then and so the staff has one night a week where the place isn't open 24 hours, but Crews is pretty sure that it's because Nevikov needs a controlled place to do his business deals.

He sits in the car for a minute, watching the windows- dark purple, a spot of gold wherever there's a small light or a lamp- and listens to the traffic flow by before opening his car door and standing on his own two feet. His approach of the double doors is smooth, easy, attention intensely focused, and he touches the handle and takes one measured breath before going in.

It's unlocked. (Of course it is.)

The halls are dark. It seems a little odd, when they're usually lowly lit and throbbing with music, and Crews gets the vague feeling of emptiness, purple fog whispering around his ankles- he pushes on. Roman will be in the kitchen. He knows it.

The brushed aluminum doors swing open easily when he gives them a push.

Nevikov doesn't look up.

He's leaning against the island counter, back to the door, and from the angle he's at Crews can tell he has a knife in one hand, working slowly, deliberately, at a piece of something in the other- Charlie doesn't tense up, doesn't give any indication that he's seen the blade that glints between Roman's fingers.

"I've answered all your questions already, Detective." Roman breaks the silence, Russian accent warm and thick, still looking down at whatever he's holding.

Crews walks further into the room, five strides, to stand parallel to the edge of the counter Nevikov's leaning on- it's a half-eaten piece of fruit in his hand, a pitted mango, sweet-looking. He gets a vague urge to take it and bite.

He puts his hands in his pockets and smiles. "This isn't work."

Roman raises his head, makes eye contact, and as always, it's deliberate, heavy, slow to blink.

"Pleasure, then?" He asks, parting another piece of mango from its whole, sticky and firm and soft at the same time, and setting it on his tongue, closing his lips around the knife as he draws it back out of his mouth. He never breaks his gaze.

Charlie lets his smile slant upwards lopsidedly. "Not quite." He says. "I wanted to ask you about Mickey Raybourne."

The other man grins and looks back at his hands, toying with his knife.

"Mickey... Raybourne." He echoes, rolling the name around in his mouth, rolling his tongue, rolling the 'R' in Raybourne. The way he speaks, his accent, makes every word out of his mouth seem round, physical, like Crews could reach out and feel them with his fingertips, and he chooses them with such precision that he caresses each one with his tongue before they fall from his lips. "I'm afraid I do not know that name, Detective."

Charlie knows Roman's fucking with him, with the cocky edge to his lips and the similarly insincere tint to his voice. Roman knows that he knows that both of them know exactly what they're talking about.

He doesn't let the smile fall from his face. "We're both involved in this and you know it." Crews says, tone still light, deliberately nonthreatening. "We're on level ground, Roman."

Nevikov returns his eyes to the other man, still wearing an air of contentedness, still wearing a grin. "Is anyone ever really on level ground, Detective?" He gestures with the knife. Charlie doesn't let himself stiffen at the casual glint of the undoubtedly razor-sharp blade through the still air. "I know what I am thinking, and you know what you are thinking, and who is to say which information is more valuable?"

"I guess it depends on whose decisions carry more weight." Charlie responds. If he's being honest, Roman is the most interesting person he's ever met. On a fundamental level, they understand each other because they are, at their cores, cut from the same cloth. "Mine or yours."

Roman lets out a laugh. It's a surprisingly pleasing sound, not a bark, not anything shrill, but a smooth rumble that seems to start in his chest and bubble in his throat before popping out of his mouth in a huff of glad-sounding air. Charlie always figured that if he ever met a real Russian mob boss, they'd be six-foot, sleazy and loud, covered in tattoos with short-cropped hair and a heavy, wide jaw, proprietor of some seedy, glitzy establishment, smoking, dressed all in black. He imagined that they'd have an authoritative, deep voice, and rough hands, quick to anger. As far as he knows, Roman only checks a couple boxes- he smokes, and runs a nightclub, but he wears all-white and his voice is steady with deliberately-chosen words and deliberately-chosen expressions. He seems acutely aware that every move that he makes is open for interpretation by everyone around him, something that very, very few normal people are, even cops. Roman makes a point to project a combination of easy, cocky confidence and intense control. His hands are strong, but slender, with manicured nails and no nicotine stains, even with all the smoking he does, and Charlie has not been able to tie him to any murder that was not planned, logical, and flawlessly executed. (Charlie doesn't know about the tattoos. He wouldn't be surprised, though.)

A dangerous character, indeed.

Maybe that's why Charlie's drawn to him. Birds of a feather and all that.

"A difficult question." Nevikov says, chuckling. "With a difficult answer, Detective New Money. I suppose it depends on how you measure weight."

"Well, here in the United States, we use pounds." Crews quips, eyebrows raising, like he's joking with Dani or making fun of Tidwell, except in this case he's looking into the jaws of a East Russian Laika, and he's the German Shepard. "I don't know how you do it out in Russia."

Roman scoffs, turning to face Charlie, taking another slice out of the mango. "We use grams, like every other country in the world besides your America." He smiles. "Your founding fathers... were so desperate to prove themselves different from the British. Such drama."

Crews shrugs. "It's a bit of an inconvenience."

"But you did not come here to talk about measurements." Roman says, somehow lacing his words with a tinge of innuendo, like always- maybe it's something to do with owning a nightclub, or running a sex-trafficking ring. Over time, everything you say sounds like sex. He spreads his arms midway in an open gesture, beckoning with his fingers, fruit in one hand, knife in the other. "Whatever you are wanting to ask -- ask."

"I did ask." Charlie narrows his eyes, his ever-present smile still on his lips, because something about Roman makes him smile. Roman's a fascinating person- at his core, he wants to be wanted. He wants someone to want to know him. He soaks it up like a sponge, the attention. 

It's a real coincidence. Charlie's been looking for someone who can recognize all of who he is.

"I asked about Mickey Raybourne." He finishes. "And Jack Reese, and the Seybolt family. It's all connected, Roman, and so are you."

Nevikov cocks his head at him. "Last I am hearing, Mickey Raybourne is dead." He replies. "And Jack Reese has left his wife- poor woman, give her a kiss from me- and man who had killed that unfortunate family is in prison." Roman smiles. "Not you."

"Not me." Charlie acknowledges. "Someone's been tying up their loose ends, Roman. You're either in danger or a murderer."

"I am always in danger, and- off of the record- I am already a murderer." Roman says, nonchalant. "Occupational hazards, they are. Nightclubs are a dangerous business."

"Especially if you're not just a nightclub owner." Crews murmurs.

Roman chuckles. "Are you here to arrest me, Detective Crews?" He asks. "You have cuffed me twice, searched my club, and shown up at my place of business in the night." He finishes the mango, sets the pit in a bowl on the counter, dabs a napkin on his tongue and sets about cleaning the sticky-sweet juice from his fingertips with small, strong, deliberate movements.

Charlie frowns. "I'm not gonna arrest you. Yet." He responds. "And I only cuffed you once."

Nevikov shrugs. "I'm counting the time I was beaten by your cops and shackled to the interrogation table." He says.

"Ah." Crews nods. "Yeah, I guess that's twice."

"Then you have other motives for being here this late. Not business." Roman smiles, doesn't move, but Crews takes one step forwards, hands still in his pockets, one finger on his switchblade. "Are you going to kill me with that blade in your pocket, Detective?"

"I'm not going to kill you." Charlie murmurs. "As long as you tell me what I want to know." He takes another step forwards, feels the blood pounding through his veins, feels himself losing his cool- he knows if he doesn't back off, this can end one of two ways, and neither is good.

"You can have anything you are wanting, Detective." Nevikov murmurs, lips slow, cocky bastard. He's standing so close, now, less than a foot away, dark eyes looking directly at Charlie. "If you only have the balls to take it."

Crews growls and pushes him against the wall.

The juice-covered blade in Roman's hand clatters to the ground.

Charlie's right hand has found its way to Roman's throat, thumb on the man's Adam's apple, fingers splayed across his jawline and behind his ear. His other hand is pressed restrictively on Roman's hip, and their faces are so close together their noses touch. Charlie can smell the sweetness of the fruit on Roman's tongue. They're both breathing harshly.

"What do you want, Detective New Money?" Roman pants, half-taunting, half-confident, and Charlie doesn't need any more incentive to press his lips forcefully to Nevikov's.

Roman responds immediately, right hand coming up to grip Charlie's shoulder, left settling on the cut of the other man's hip. He opens his mouth, makes a noise when Crews thrusts his tongue to lick at his lips, tastes the lingering sweetness of the mango combined with something warm- Charlie bites at Roman's bottom lip and runs the tip of his tongue along the other man's teeth, still dominant, now pressing his whole body against Roman's. He can feel the stirrings of Nevikov's arousal poking into his thigh.

He breaks off for a breath, not releasing the grip his hands have on Roman's skin.

"You like this." Charlie pants, grinding purposefully against the other man, who groans and lets his head fall back against the wall. Crews takes this as an invitation and sucks red marks onto Roman's neck, around his Adam's apple, biting at the jawbone, leaving a purpling bruise under the junction of his jawline and ear, directly on the artery. He smooths his tongue over every mark he makes, and Roman arches into his hips, unabashedly wanton.

"You like having someone tell you what to do." Charlie mumbles into the other man's neck, letting his left hand anchor itself on Roman's waist. "You want someone to take care of you."

"Business is business." Roman pants, out of breath. There's an attractive pink flush stealing its way up his neck and onto his cheeks, giving his face a healthy, flushed glow. "Pleasure is pleasure."

Charlie doesn't respond, but lets himself enjoy the feeling of having the other man under his hands, warm, pliable, willing- three words he never thought he'd ascribe to Roman Nevikov, but still.

"What would you do if I told you to kneel." He murmurs directly into Roman's ear, letting his tongue flick out to lick the delicate shell. Crews feels, rather than hears, the shudder that trembles through the other man's skin, and Nevikov detaches his arm and slides to his knees without one word of protest.

Charlie backs away a half-step. Roman looks up at him half-daring, half-lustful through dark lashes. His mouth is slightly open and looks red, like fresh strawberries, and his hair is mussed, face flushed.

Incredible.

"You have me here, Detective." He says, slightly breathless, hands instinctively in his lap, framing the bulge in his pants, obviously aroused. "Now, the question is... what are you going to do with me."  
Charlie doesn't say anything, but takes off his suit jacket, tossing it on the counter, exposing his holster- he unclips the strap holding his weapon in and draws his gun, not cocking it, weighing it in his hand for a moment before extending his arm to Roman's face until the tip of the barrel brushes against the other man's lips.

"Suck." He says. There's nothing loud about it, nothing imposing, but the quiet undercurrent of danger in his voice, the unmistakable ringing of a command in Roman's ears, and he opens his mouth further, closes it around the barrel, never once breaking eye contact with the man above him. When Charlie pushes, he takes everything that's given to him until the trigger guard taps his chin, feeling the smooth metal on his tongue and tasting the tang of well-polished metal.

He looks directly at Charlie and sucks, hollowing his cheeks.

Outwardly, the only response Crews shows is a slight instant dilation of his pupils and a flare of his nostrils, and he draws the sidearm out once until the muzzle rests on Roman's bottom lip before sliding it in again.

"You are very good." He murmurs, imagining the glide of the gun against the wet heat of Nevikov's mouth. "That mouth is good for things other than being snarky."

Roman doesn't respond, on account of there being a gun in his mouth, but he shifts his hand and squeezes his own cock, letting out an unintelligable noise, then a sigh.

Charlie removes the gun and sets it on a cloth on the counter, making a mental note to clean it later, and unbuckles his belt, unzipping his fly, sinks one hand into Roman's mussed hair, steadies his erect cock with the other, and rests the tip on Roman's bottom lip. He gets the hint and, after Charlie smears precome on his mouth, takes the head, sucking, bringing more of it gradually into his mouth until he's most of the way in, and his nose just barely brushes the top of Charlie's groin.

He doesn't get to set the pace for long- soon, Charlie moves both hands to the side and back of Roman's head, stilling him, then sliding his cock out, then in, slowly at first, then faster. He fucks Roman's mouth, sparks chasing each other down to his toes and up through where his fingers are tangled in Nevikov's hair, pressing forwards until he hits the back of Roman's throat and feels it convulse against the head of his cock, and Roman gags, breathing shallowly through his nose as his mouth is thoroughly abused by Charlie's dick.

When Charlie pulls out, Roman takes several deep breaths, panting, before reaching to grind his own hips against the heel of his palm, getting some friction against his cock before Charlie opens his mouth.

"Stop." He says, and again, Roman treats it like an order. "You don't come until I say you come. Is there a bedroom here?"

Roman smirks, and chuckles. "This is a nightclub." He replies, getting up off his knees and brushing off his pants of imaginary particles, because the kitchen is spotless, even the floors. "I have a private room."

Roman's private room turns out to be a dimly-lit bedroom with a king-sized bed and a wall of sex toys- things from floggers and riding crops to vibrators and anal beads hang off the walls and populate the drawers.

Charlie immediately tugs Roman's shirt off and shoves him onto the bed- soft, warm, luxurious, probably a higher thread count than anyone else Charlie knows- and closes one hand around his throat, pressing his lips to the other man's, fiercely, and Roman notices but doesn't resist when Charlie cuffs his hands to the headboard.

"Real cuffs." Charlie says, raising his eyebrows, jingling the keys, which he sets on the side table with his badge and gun, which he'd apparently grabbed from the kitchen island. "You're not getting out of those too easily."

"How do you know?" Roman tugs at them experimentally.

Crews fixes him with a look. "Because you won't." He says, a command this time, and Roman obeys. Charlie gets up off of him and the bed, standing to inspect the wall of toys.

"What's mine is yours." He murmurs, rubbing his face distractedly, eyes dancing across the rows and rows of opportunities. "And what's yours is mine."

Roman is watching him. Crews can feel it. He trails his fingers deliberately across a flogger, toys with the tip of a whip, even takes a riding crop off the shelf and weighs it in his hands before turning to the man handcuffed to the bed, whose erection has not flagged at all.

"I bet it's usually you on this side of the room." He says.

Roman chuckles. "Change is good, Detective." He rolls his hips shamelessly, arching into the air.

Charlie replaces the riding crop and moves on to the next part of the shelf- this is more his scene, and he takes several items out of drawers and off of the wall before turning back to the other man and setting his picks on the nightstand. From his current angle, Roman can't see them, but Charlie strips off his clothes before kneeling on the bed over him and tugging at his belt. Roman lets out a sigh as his cock is released.

"No boxers or briefs." Charlie murmurs. "I should have guessed." He pulls Roman's pants off and tosses them to the floor.

The first thing he takes from the bedside table is a tube of lube- the good stuff, high-strength and slippery as fuck, but rough enough that both parties can feel everything, just how Roman likes it.   
The second item is a cock ring. It snaps snugly around the root of Roman's cock. He hisses. Charlie smiles and admires his handiwork.

"Beautiful." He says, and Roman stills under the praise, as though he's not used to hearing it, let alone being its subject. Charlie gives Roman's cock a couple of strokes with a slick hand, and Nevikov pants and rolls into his palm. He continues, leaning down to suck at one dusky pink nipple, grinning when it peaks under his lips and Roman strangles a cry, which comes out like a garbled moan. He bites. Roman bucks.

"Very responsive." Charlie comments. "Nice."

He pays both nipples some attention for a while, never relenting in the slide of his hand against Roman's cock, occasionally dragging all the way up to draw one thumbnail through the slit in the head to encourage the precome, which makes Roman exhale in one breath like something very heavy's just been sat on his chest.

The third object Charlie takes from the nightstand is a pair of nipple suction cups.

Roman whines- whines! a high-pitched, rolling sound- when Charlie pinches the first one and sets the mouth flat to his skin, around the bud of his nipple, and the vaccum produced is like a mouth constantly sucking at it. He does the same for the other one, and runs his hands down Roman's sides before reaching for the fourth object on the nightstand.

A string of anal beads, increasing in size.

"I want you to be tight when I fuck you." He murmurs into Roman's ear, grinning when he tugs on Roman's cock a couple times. Roman moans, broken, the whole time it's moving.

Charlie lubes the beads up and gets down, urges Roman to prop his legs up, and presses his thumb into the pucker of the other man's asshole. Roman starts and moans as the thumb pushes through, and Charlie wiggles it, letting it catch on the rim of his hole as he pulls it back out. 

He starts to ease in the beads.

The first one goes in without much issue. So do the second and third. By the fourth, Roman's ass is stretching a bit around the bead as Charlie pushes it in, watches how he swallows it, gives the string an experimental tug that makes Roman whimper and buck as the end of the bead becomes visible again.

By the seventh, Roman is panting. His cock is flushed a pretty reddish purple, and Charlie pops one nipple suction cup off to check on them- it's red and puffy from being pulled so long, and Charlie pinches it, licks it, nibbles at both of them, to moans from Roman, before replacing the cups.

"Please." Roman says for the second time tonight.

"All in good time." Charlie murmurs. He takes the last object from the nightstand. It's a remote control.

He flicks it on.

The beads inside Roman immediately come to life, buzzing, and Roman shouts and arches, ridiculously flexible, because if Crews has calculated this correctly, one of the larger beads should be pressed directly against Roman's prostate gland. Roman curses, and moisture builds in his eyes- he thrashes against his bonds, against the pleasure wracking his body. His cock convulses. Roman twists in the bed, back arched, mouth open in an o, Russian exclamations falling from his lips like rose petals.

"Please!" There is one word Crews understands.

Charlie pins him down and growls filth in his ear, tightening one hand around his cock, moving it in time to its convulsions, not letting Roman move- he has to take it, take the pleasure lancing through his veins, take everything that Charlie gives him.

Charlie flicks another switch on the remote.

Now, the beads start to pulse and rattle inside of Roman- the pulses line up with the constrictions of his cock, precome dribbling out of the tip from the head and getting smeared by Charlie's hand- and Roman still can't move, trapped, gasping, out of words now, incoherent with pleasure yet unable to come.

Charlie tugs off the nipple cups and pinches them harshly with his fingertips, loving the way Roman arches into his touch, like even with this, even with everything, he wants more. He wants Charlie.

Crews turns the remote off.

Roman sighs and sags back onto the bed.

Charlie extracts the beads, one by one, slowly, tugging at each one and rubbing at the now-puffy skin around the other man's hole before pulling it out with a pop and a moan from Roman. Only when he's set both on the nightstand does he roll a condom over his own rock-hard erection.

He presses into Roman.

Nevikov gasps, strains against his cuffs when Charlie enters him, the slit of his penis clutching and releasing weakly, spasming randomly, and when Crews wraps his hand around his erection he bucks into his fingers, whines when Charlie dips a finger into his slit, sensitive but desperate for release. 

"Please." He pants.

Charlie fucks him fast and hard, muttering into his ears all the other filthy things he wants to do to Roman, the ideas he gives him, how he wants to do this next time- he soon has Roman exactly where he wants him, teetering on the brink but unable to fall, crying out with every thrust.

"Say it." Charlie growls, pistoning his hips. "Say I own you." 

Roman begs and pleads and says whatever he has to, and when Charlie unclips the cock ring and lays into him, he comes so hard his body locks up, limbs tight, and his mind whites out with pleasure.

At the convulsions of Roman's body around him, Charlie chokes, and fucks Roman, and comes inside of him with a shout.

After a minute, after they both recover, Charlie pulls out, cleans up, unlocks the handcuffs binding Roman- Roman is warm, limp, completely relaxed. Charlie sets his things on the bedside table and draws a blanket over both himself and Roman.

"Next time, I'm going to come on your face." He murmurs, slipping into sleep.

He thinks he hears Roman hum in agreement.

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE: why the fuck are you at the end you degenerate


End file.
